


the sirens and bells have sung

by januarys



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-09
Updated: 2013-03-09
Packaged: 2017-12-04 18:15:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/713595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/januarys/pseuds/januarys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Citadel DLC spoilers. <i>The one where Shepard has a place to call home.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	the sirens and bells have sung

**Author's Note:**

> **Before you read, there are spoilers ahead for the new DLC!** Do not read if you haven't played it yet! (Or if you haven't but know about it then please go ahead! Or whatever.)
> 
> Basically, I was just writing down my thoughts (coughfeelingscough) on how ridiculously _domestic_ Kaidan and Shep are, and it turned into this. It's just a little something I whipped up. I do hope you enjoy it!

Shepard remembers her morning years on Earth.

They're something akin to how her life is now, a battleground. She remembers the foster homes, a whole other adventure within itself, the streets that became a warzone. Running with the Reds, if only to scavenge a meal for the night, and the glow of the Alliance symbol on her second-hand omni-tool as she told herself that  _you will be someone, become something great_ -

The first time she left Earth, she done so without a backwards glance.

Tabloids surrounding her often claim that Earth was,  _is_ , her home. Earth is the very place where Commander Shepard prepared herself for the battlefield, the one to lead the galaxy through its darkest period.

Home. Earth was never really home. Earth was what sustained her, its sky another reason to fight towards tomorrow. Earth never offered a reason to call it  _home,_ only helped her to become the survivor she is. One reason Akuze is a memory rather than a burden. Home is a sentimental ideal for a normal person. The only thing Shepard knows,  _understands_ , is battle. It rages in her blood, weaves through her bones, pumps through her veins.

Shepard has never had a place to call home, to put down roots and plan for the future. With the way things are playing out though, roots have become something of a luxury.

Yet as she runs her fingers along the kitchen counter, takes in the crackle of the fireplace and the fuzzy carpet beneath her toes, she thinks that this is somewhere to call home. For now anyway.

*

On the Normandy there is always someone taking advantage of her open door policy, regardless of the hour. Shepard had to apologise profusely to a tearful Liara who clambered into her quarters barely twenty minutes into her slumber regarding some  _need to know_ intel that Shepard needed to know  _right this second._

The translator couldn't find appropriate phrases in time for Shepard's tirade. She still feels bad for making the asari a little bluer than she already is.

Shepard loves a lot of things about the apartment. She loves the lock the most out of it all, however.

*

Five years ago, if someone had told Shepard that she would be lounging on a tasteful sofa with a glass of red in one hand and an equally red-blooded biotic tracing patterns on the back of the other, she would have laughed in their face and shoved the butt of her shotgun in their chin. Hard.

How times change.

She blames Kaidan for this… domestic side of her that's emerged since Anderson offered her this place. It's hard to imagine that she would be worried about whether the  _amber accent wall_  goes with the  _luxury ottoman_ , even though they're not in the same room (or the same storey). Hell, Shepard didn't even know  _what_  an ottoman was before Kaidan thrust the catalogue in her face, eyes eager and expression just as hopeful.

Shepard prefers to touch up the  _accent_ of her armour, and if her HUD is working after a krogan charges successfully towards her (quite rare though) then she considers it a  _luxury_.

Yet here she is, doing all of the above, and while it should feel strange, it's not.

Shepard will admit that she likes doing these sorts of things though, likes having some place to come home to. A fridge full of food, a shelf full of books (the spine on Tennyson's collection is thoroughly worn through) just waiting to be cracked open, and a warm body to snuggle up to when the automated air cycle seems a little chillier than most nights.

Maybe this is  _her_ sentimental ideal, sitting on a plush sofa with the hard lines of Kaidan's body being that extra support.

It's not that easy to forget that a war rages on outside of this little riviere but with the fireplace crackling before her, the soft jazz tunes emitting from the walls, the warmth in her belly from the wine, and Kaidan cradling her close, well, Shepard gives herself this moment to forget.

*

As the hours for shore leave begin to dwindle towards the end of the campaign, Shepard takes all the moments she can out of her home.

It's the little things like overriding the VI cleaner so she can vacuum the endless carpet herself, restocking the liquor (the bill is sent to Steve and James, each), and making sure there is enough damn food for Kaidan and herself due to their shared (and ridiculous) biotic appetite. So  _plenty_ of hot sauce, and dextro-based food for Tali and Garrus, cartons of eggs for James, tea for Liara, and chocolate coins for Kasumi—

Shepard's a goddamn  _housewife_. Joker hounds her for a week after she admits this out loud. She threatens the safety of his pilot seat.

Still, the moments are small, almost insignificant in hindsight, but the days towards returning to Earth are counting down and things start to turn reflective within the walls of her ( _her_ ) apartment. The emails from her friends (she wishes a few missing names would appear though) demanding to spend time with her eventually end, and then it's just Kaidan and herself tangled in the sheets of one of the beds as the strip outside grows quiet with the midnight hour.

He thumbs through the pages of Tennyson, the dim glow of the lamp defining his sharp features, and Shepard clings a little tighter when he starts to read out  _Ulysses_.

She thinks back to the SR-1's cargo bay, Ashley handling a rifle with practised movements, and her dad's voice reading out his favourite passage from a battered OSD. To the bar fights in Flux that got the two of them (and sometimes Kaidan, though rarely) in trouble with Udina, and the joy on Ashley's face when Shepard took advantage of the hard suit requisitions which conveniently coincided with her birthday the following week.

It's the quiet moments, when the war rages on beyond the stars and Kaidan keeping his hands steady as he holds the worn out book that makes Shepard think of  _what could have been_ and  _could I have done things differently—_

Kaidan stops fumbling through the words on the page, and draws Shepard closer. She presses her face into the crook of his neck, feels his heartbeat against her chest, and her fingers dance on the back of his neck, on the implant embedded under his skin. He presses his lips against the top of her head, fingers running through the rumpled curls and holds her.

"I know," he says quietly, voice on the verge of breaking, "I miss her too."

His voice echoes softly through the room, rings out past the  _amber accent wall_ , filters down to the fuzzy carpet. Shepard sighs, thinks of the Thessia dossier on her desk downstairs, Ashley reduced to nothing but a plaque and a memory, and tries to fight back the stinging feeling behind her eyes.

*

It's when James grips her hand tighter than normal, when Garrus forgoes his usual boundaries to step closer, when Liara shows her the stars, when Javik holds out his hand, when Tali salutes her with a broken voice, when EDI trips over her words for the first time, and when Kaidan whispers everything into their kiss as London burns around them, that Shepard realises that she already had a home.

Even though Earth was never home, Shepard once fought to see the sky everyday, years ago. She looks up to the ashen expanse above her, full of flame and dust, smoke and death, the ruins around her that were someone's home.

Shepard stands in front of her crew, her friends, her  _home_ , and vows to win.

*

The interior of the Mako is tense, anticipation and uncertainty clouding the air. Kaidan shifts closer to her as the machine rumbles along to the beam. He intertwines their fingers and it's a little awkward with the armour but she squeezes back as best she can manage, and rests her head against his shoulder.

Shepard spies a small grin on Andersons face, remembers the notes in the data pad's scattered along the apartment, and takes a breath.

"…so I guess now is a bad time to bring up whether or not I can actually keep the apartment, right?"

It's quiet for a moment, before recognition flashes in Anderson's eyes and his laughter is above the noise. The handful of people among them joins in and Shepard exhales with a smile.

Home.


End file.
